


Fairies in the Garden

by indefiniteimpala



Category: Artemis Fowl - Eoin Colfer
Genre: Canon Compliant, Christmas, Christmas With Family, Feel-good, Friends are Family Too, Gen, Magic Revealed, Old Artemis, Slice of Life, more or less
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:54:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21898495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indefiniteimpala/pseuds/indefiniteimpala
Summary: Fowl family Christmases are always exciting. Artemis, now an old man, loves delighting and disconcerting his family and assorted hangers-on.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 89
Collections: Artemis Fowl Yuletide





	Fairies in the Garden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nasimwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasimwrites/gifts).



I. 

Christmas at the Fowl Manor was always a family affair. This year it was snowing heavily over Dublin, and the manor and its grounds were blanketed in white.

As Liz’s rented car pulled up around the driveway, windscreen wipers working frantically against the howling gale, she could see her new wife was clearly having second thoughts.

“It’s not that there’s anything wrong with your family,” said Harper, continuing a conversation that had been started, broken off, and started again many times on their trip here from London. “They’re just a little, you know, intense. And weird.”

“You _like_ weird,” said Liz, switching off the engine. The temperature in the car immediately dropped a few degrees, but neither of them made a move to brave the storm.

“I do, I know, but, like – that magician friend of your Grandpa’s who shows up every year and never tells us his real name? That’s a little – creepy, isn’t it?”

“You mean No. 1?” Liz smiled, but it was a bit abstracted. “He’s been coming to family Christmases since I was a little kid. You’ve got to admit his magic tricks are good.”

“What about last year when he brought along that really old guy – Quando or Qwerty or whatever? Something was definitely up with that. No-one makes fireworks that do that naturally. And in the rain? I’m not pointing fingers or anything but I’m just going to say: hallucinogenics.”

“Oh, yeah. Qwan. Yeah. Don’t know what was going on there.” Liz pulled on her gloves slowly. “Look, sweetheart, you just kind of roll with it. We’re only here for a couple of hours, then we can drive back to that hotel in the city.”

“Alright.” Harper pecked her on the cheek, then pulled on her hat. “Let’s go officially introduce me to your family as your spouse.”

*

Everyone was gathering in the dayroom, which was as full of life and warmth and chatter as the driveway was bleak and desolate. The fire was crackling and they were burning candles on every available surface, despite the children running around underfoot. The walls were wreathed in twinkling fairy lights twined with holly and greenery. It all smelled like mulled wine and expensive perfume and something delicious roasting just down the hall.

Harper, who still wasn’t used to seeing the whole Fowl family, with all its various offshoots, crammed together in one place, was simply overwhelmed, but Liz detected in her usual way that the chaos had a certain order to it, an almost deferential grouping around one old man in the upright green leather chair in the corner. The crowd chanelled the new arrivals straight to him, with barely a “Hello, Liz dear,” and a “Some wine, Harper?”

They were deposited in front of Grandpa Artemis. He was very, very old – over ninety now, but still as sharp and shrewd as ever. Snow white hair, what was left of it perfectly combed; a pale suit almost hanging off his severe frame. Liz could remember sitting on his knee as a baby. It had been very bony.

“Ah, Elizabeth and Harper,” he said, fixing his glittering eyes – one blue, one hazel – on them over his glasses. Harper fought an absurd urge to curtsey and instead clutched her mug tighter. Before Liz could say anything, Grandpa Artemis coughed and added, mismatched eyes twinkling, that he would like to congratulate them on their wedding and wished them very happy.

Liz was startled enough to blurt, “But we didn’t tell anyone in the family! We just wanted a small ceremony.”

“I know, dear. I hear it was charming. Those crystal glasses I sent don’t need to be hand-washed, by the way.”

Harper made a strangled exclamation. “There wasn’t any note – very kind of you, sir!”

“Of course, of course.” Artemis waved a long thin hand. “They’ll also neutralise any poisons drunk from them, just by the by.”

“… right,” said Harper.

“Myles and Beckett should be here after lunch,” Artemis told them affably. “They’re flying in from Peru. I don’t believe you’ve met my brothers yet, Harper? They’re much more tiring than me, but don’t worry; they won’t notice if you yawn. They never did get the hang of social nicities.” He grinned, showing just a hint of pointed white teeth.

Liz stammered some vague pleasantries and grabbed Harper’s elbow, dragging her away.

“Losing his marbles, but very generous,” Harper muttered under her breath, as Liz waved somewhat harriedly to a couple of cousins and bore Harper off towards the table of baking. “How the heck did he know?”

“It’s best not to ask questions with Grandpa Artemis,” said Liz, firmly putting a Christmas mince pie into her wife’s free hand.

“I suppose it’s something to do with him being a genius.” Harper took a bite, somewhat forlornly. It was delicious – the food at Fowl Manor always was. “Still crazy to believe that he has a knighthood and about three PhDs. He just seems like a nice, if batty, old man.”

“I think it’s more like five PhDs,” said Liz, smiling and wrapping an arm around Harper’s shoulders. “But it’s the rest of his career that’s really crazy. No-one knows all the stories, but if you get him talking later I bet you’ll hear a good one.”

Harper slid her arm around Liz’s waist and pulled her closer. “They certainly are good stories,” she said.

II. 

Kit and Fay, who were not the youngest cousins but still small enough not to be trusted to help in the kitchen, had escaped to the library upstairs. It was always exciting, this long, labrythine room with its smell of dust and leather and so many books, and especially so today, with the wind howling outside and that curious kind of light you only get through snow.

Kit was eight and Fay was nine, and though they were technically only second cousins, they were best friends, and were inseperable at family functions. Most people thought they weren’t related, with Kit’s dark hair and pallor taking after his great-grandfather, and Fay’s brown skin, brown curls and bright brown eyes making her clearly part of the Mwangi-Fowl line.

They particularly loved the library, though technically they weren’t supposed to be in there on their own. Fay had, this year, become convinced that there was a secret passage behind one of the bookshelves, and they had made it their mission to find it. So far, that had involved pulling out books at random to see if anything happened.

“Come on, Fay, this was your idea,” growled Kit, as he turned down another aisle and found Fay nose-deep in a heavy tome.

“Shh, this one’s about fairies,” she said, not looking up.

Kit peered at the cover. “Impressionist paintings of fairies. There’s nothing suspicious in that. Also, I’m about 82 per cent sure that Sir is joking when he talks about fairies.”

It had been some uncle’s facetious suggestion, when Artemis had finally got his knighthood (actually his fourth, but the first he could talk about publicly) around the time the great-grandkids started appearing, that instead of ‘Grandpa’ or ‘Grandad’ they all ought to refer to him as ‘Sir’. Kit and Fay didn’t even question it.

“I’m not so sure.” Fay shut the book with a snap and pushed it back on the shelf, her brown eyes gleaming. “I’ve written down all his stories about supernatural creatures and fair folk – or, if you like, his ‘fairy tales’ – and they show a lot of consistency. Also, exhibit B – have you ever gotten a Christmas present from Sir that you can figure out where it’s from?”

“No,” said Kit, thinking of the gleaming wrapping paper under the massive tree in the hall, and also the weird plant, levitating stuffed bear and colour-changing watch that he had recieved in past years.

“I conclude, therefore, that something weird is afoot.”

“Just because your name means fairies doesn’t mean it’s anything important,” groaned Kit, trailing Fay around the end of the shelf. He could smell lunch just about ready below.

“On the contrary,” said a quiet old voice. “Names are very important.”

Both Fay and Kit went red and made identical guilty ‘meep!’ sounds. Artemis Senior was standing by the long window at the end of the library, one hand on the sill, one hand on his stick. He smiled at them both.

“For example, a sprite is a very different thing from a pixie, and a pixie from an elf. And of course LEPrecon is not a species at all, but a job title …”

He limped over to one of the chairs in a nearby nook, his cane making muffled clicks on the carpeted wood. Kit never understood how old people could move so slow.

“Sit down, Miss Fay, Master Christopher.” Artemis jabbed with his stick at the carpet as he painstakingly lowered himself into the armchair. The kids quickly plopped down, Fay crossing her arms and legs like she was in school. Kit shot her a sardonic glance.

Artemis was looking out the window, as snow rattled against the panes. “Have you two thought much about your future careers?” he said unexpectedly.

“I’m going to be an astronaut, probably,” said Fay, at the same time as Kit said, “Uh, no?”

“Good enough,” said Sir, still smiling. “I thought the two of you might be interested to know that there are always, hm, different career paths available to bright minds willing to see things from a new angle. I won’t be around forever, and when I’m gone I think there’ll still be a need for people like me.”

“ _I_ think you’ll live forever,” said Fay, with endearing if somewhat misplaced loyalty.

“I thought you were retired, Sir?” said Kit, frowning.

“Retired, hah!” Artemis coughed out a raspy laugh. “Master Christopher, I haven’t stopped working a day in my life since – oh, since I was your age. My mind won’t keep still, you see.”

“I know how you feel, Sir,” said Fay, with such weight that Artemis smiled.

“You’re quite right about the fairy tales, you know,” he said gently. “One day soon I’ll introduce you to a real fairy, if you would like. They live at the bottom of the garden.”

“In that little hill?” said Kit, squinting shrewdly. He also had suspicions about the little hill. He had occasionally seen it light up.

“In a manner of speaking,” smiled Artemis. “Oh, and you’re right about the secret passage, too. I would try down the other end by the fireplace – but you’ll have to come back later; I can hear your parents calling you down for lunch. Run along now, children.”

They both cast him an anguished look, but he waved an insistent hand and watched them with twinkling eyes as they dashed away down the stairs.

“What do you suppose Sir meant by all that job talk?” said Fay, as they jumped the last few steps to the hall.

“Who knows?” said Kit, who could already taste the Christmas pudding.

III.

Artemis sat a while longer in the armchair, willing to let the rush of relatives get themselves out of the way before he wandered down for lunch. Family, friends, and hangers-on: he’d swear less than half of them were actually any blood of his or the twins’, but they were kin all the same. As his days got slower and shorter, the winter light, as it were, setting early, he enjoyed the chaos more and more. Particularly as none of them seemed to expect _him_ to do anything.

One gnarled bony hand curled in his suit pocket for the thin wallet he always kept in there, no matter what he was wearing. It contained a single photo, which he pressed to his lips before carefully unfolding. A printed photo – that was rare enough in these digital times. But this was even rarer because it was one of the few Mud People photos in existence to show the unfiltered existence of fairies – and rarer still because it was a photo that contained Julius Root.

He stared down at the faded, folded paper, that smile still playing at the edges of his eyes. It had been taken so many years ago that even he had lost count, but he could still name them all – Commander Root, Mulch, grubby as ever; Foaly, Juliet, dear Domovoi; Holly, or Captain Short as she had been then. Himself, pale and so young. It must have been taken after that debacle in Chicago. Or perhaps earlier. They’d all been so unsure of each other then. And with good reason. Artemis laughed to himself as a couple of old memories surfaced, like bubbles in the finest champagne.

“What’s so funny, old man?”

With a shimmer in the air, Holly unshielded in front of him, right where Fay and Christopher had been sitting before.

“Hello, Holly. Happy Yule.”

“Merry Christmas, Artemis.” She put her hands on her hips, watching him with her trademark grin and a tilted head. The long decades had been kind to Holly: her spiky hair had turned white about the same time Artemis’s had, and she wore it longer now than in their youth, tied back in neat plaits. There were fine laugh-lines around her eyes, blue and hazel, reflecting Artemis’s; and pain lines by her mouth. She wore civilian clothes, a deep red pantsuit and emerald jacket; around Fowl Manor, where the air was always clean and the land safe, you could bend the helmet-and-jumpsuit regulations.

“Are you here for lunch?” drawled Artemis, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other.

“No. I wish,” sighed Holly. “I’m actually here on business.”

“Ah well. We’ve got dinner next week after all.”

“Yes, Foaly told me to tell you that he and Caballine say hi. They should be able to make it, apparently, if we have another dinner party sometime in February. Apparently the kids are acting up again.”

“They’re always in trouble. Serves him right for mocking me when the twins were little. What was the business?”

“Oh, it’s that fecking Haven City Council issue again.” She pulled up a file on her wrist comm, and as Artemis held up his own (discreetly disguised as a watch), she sent it over to him with a flick. “Ivrina’s still trying to get Section 8 to amalgamate with the LEP. I wouldn’t bother you about it today but they’ve shifted the vote to next week.” 

“D’Arvit,” muttered Artemis, pulling up strings of Gnommish on the little hologram. “This old nonsense. I’ll send them a message.”

Holly chuckled. “Time was, that would have meant something very different coming from you.”

Artemis fixed her with a mock-reproving glare over his spectacles. “I have a seat on the LEP and Demon Councils now. I’m an upstanding member of society.”

“You’ve never been an upstanding member of fairy society. At best you’ve been a slightly-hunched-over member of – ”

“Alright, alright.” Artemis smiled as Holly kissed his cheek.

“I’d better get going. There are some celebrations in Atlantis that I want to get to. Oh – is No.1 here? Qwan keeps asking for him.”

“Yes, he’s downstairs, delighting and disconcerting those parts of my family who still don’t know who he is. I’ll never understand his obsession with passing as human.”

“Ah, no, I think it’s an obsession with _slightly failing_ to pass as human,” said Holly, her eyes twinkling. “He likes the drama. I’ll tell Qwan he’ll have to wait until tomorrow for that experiment.”

“I’m still not sure we should have let those two start this Portal Program. I’m pretty sure they’re going to destroy the Earth.”

“Oh, it’ll be fine. Hey, I brought you a present.”

“Oh?”

“Here.” Holly rummaged in a pocket and produced a tiny glass-like sphere, half-filled with dirt, an acorn peeping through. “I bet it’s been a while since you completed the Ritual.”

Artemis’s bent fingers closed around it. “It has. I’m far too old these days to go junketing around looking for oak trees and full moons. Besides, I only get the barest trickle of magic from it.”

“Just enough to keep you healthy, hey.”

“Mmm.” Artemis smiled. “Some members of my family have started making dark references to _The Lord of the Rings_.”

Holly’s comm beeped. “Oops, that’ll be the shuttle,” she said, a little guiltily. “I didn’t – technically – get clearance to open up this chute today. But hey, what was the point of digging it if we’re never going to use it?”

“Get out of here!” laughed Artemis, waving an unsteady hand. “And you can tell the Council that after this, I really am going to step down!”

“Sure, sure,” grinned Holly, and disappeared again. Artemis watched the air-shimmer trot down the library, to where a part of the panelling quietly creaked open and shut.

He sat still for a moment longer, gathering the strength to head back downstairs. He’d go for the elevator, he thought; no sense risking the staircase …

“Uhuhmm … Sir?”

Young Harper’s voice, somewhat strangled – Artemis craned his head around. She was standing right behind him, a few steps in from the doorway, still clutching that mug. “Uhh … Liz – lunch is ready, Liz sent me up to see if you … needed any … help …”

Artemis contemplated the mesmer for a flicker of a second – old habits died hard. It wasn’t like he’d had enough juice for a mesmser since the wildest days of his youth, anyway. “Why, Harper, you should have said something earlier,” he purred. “I could have introduced you to my dear friend Holly. Another time, perhaps.”

Harper made a choking sound. “I … something in the water …?”

Artemis heaved himself to his feet, accepting Harper’s automatic hand under his elbow to steady him. “Just let me lean on you to the elevator, dear, thank you; I’ll explain it all on the way down …”

She woodenly helped him limp out of the library. When he judged that the bewilderment and doubt running across her face had reached the right balance – he’d had plenty of practice at this, and still it never got old – he said, “Welcome to the family, Harper.”

IV. 

It was after lunch, and after the presents had been opened. Shrieks drifted from the ballroom, where the kids had been banished to play with whatever parent-horrifying contraptions Grandpa Artemis had handed out this year. Christmas carols played softly in the background.

Artemis had retired to his favourite green chair by the window in the dayroom. The snowstorm was easing off a bit; he quietly watched the rattling of the glass recede to a gentle whiteness, and the first outlines of the garden, visible through the last drifting flakes. _A good Christmas_ , he thought. _One of my better ones._

The fire was still crackling, but it was never too warm from this distance – never too cold either. Various relatives moved through the room, nibbling at the last of the food laid out on the table, looking for a good place to quietly nap. A good looking middle-aged man, with copper-brown skin and salt-and-pepper hair set off by a sparkly silver cape, traded nods with Artemis, chatting with a couple of aunts. No. 1’s eyes flashed red for just an instant, and Artemis shook his head and smiled.

His fingers tapped on the book on his lap. Another biography of him, gifted by a thoughtful and sarcastic nephew, who managed to find a new one every year. Few of them called themselves stories of ‘Artemis Fowl II’ but it was nice to see that some of his descendants could pick out his footprints across the world.

There was a commotion out in the hall; shouts of “Uncle Beckett! Uncle Myles!” and a babble of conversation. Artemis could make out his brothers’ voices raised over the top of it all, laughing and promising Peruvian presents if they’d just let them get dry and sit down for a moment, Kit …

The twins swept into the dayroom, awhirl with family and that dratted cyborg dog of Myles’s, trailing snow and mud.

“Howdy, Arty,” grinned Beckett, while Myles and Artemis shook hands with exaggerated pomp. The twins still looked the same, hair silver and grey, with the same slight stoop, though Myles favoured a cane more, like Artemis.

The dog, a yellow lab with metallic eyes, put up its front paws on the table and began wolfing down spare mince pies as fast as it could get them in its mouth.

“Myles, control your mutt,” said Artemis primly, while a couple of the kids screamed with laughter and hauled the dog bodily away.

Beckett pulled over a couple of chairs and the twins sat down by Artemis.

“You missed lunch.”

“Would you believe it? It’s difficult to land a plane in a snowstorm,” said Myles, inspecting his fingernails. “Peru was nice, thanks for asking.”

“You called me every day while you were there.”

“Oh, yeah.” Myles grinned.

“Did you let Foaly know about that geothermal duct?” Beckett straightened the cuffs of his leather aviator’s jacket – a ridiculous aesthetic, given it was usually Myles who flew the plane. “Pretty incredible – a community of the People who have been living almost on the surface this whole time, basically undiscovered.”

“I’m glad you two managed to keep it that way. Big-footed oafs.”

“Thanks,” said Myles. “It was Foaly you told, right?”

“Yes. The team of us decided Holly should go check them out. I think she’ll head over next week. See if Haven should reach out, or leave well enough alone.”

“You should go with her,” said Beckett. “Get out of the house for a while.”

“I might, you know.” Artemis looked out the window. The oxygen tank upstairs, the arrays of pills and palliatives, flashed through his mind, but only for a moment. “It’s been years since I was in South America.”

“Anyway, it’s good to see you,” said Beckett.

“And it’s good to be _back_ ,” said Myles, accepting the cup of tea Fay brought over with undisguised relief. “I hope my lab hasn’t gotten too messy while I’ve been away …”

Artemis looked a little guilty. “I may have said that No. 1 could go in and borrow some things. The Portal Project has been going in some, um, interesting directions.”

As Myles contemplated the ruin of his ordering system, No. 1, over in the corner, threw a handful of glitter in the air with a series of bangs and whizzes, delighting the younger cousins. Artemis chewed his lip. _This year No. 1 can do the vacuuming, too._

*

Harper and Liz were chatting with one of the aunts as they all helped with the dishes.

“You’ve married into a weird bunch, I’ll give you that, Harper,” said Aunty Alice, tipping the silver cutlery into the sink with a clatter. “Good genetics, though. If you two wanted kids.”

Harper went bright red. Liz murmured, “Thanks, Aunty Alice.”

“Mmm.” Alice’s eyes twinkled. “Funny thing, though; have you ever noticed how none of us children inherited Artemis’s heterochromia? It’s a shame, really. Maybe there are latent genes somewhere, lying around.”

Liz nudged Harper, running a tea towel over one of the crystal glasses. “Another mystery for you, eh, sweetheart?”

“What?” said Harper loudly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never heard of mysteries.” 

*

Kit and Fay had won hide-and-seek, lost impromptu laser tag, and been banished from the ballroom for playing with the grand piano. The secret passage in the library had been forgotten until another day. Satisfied with their Christmas so far, they retired to the dayroom in hopes of more food and maybe a story from Sir.

Family functions in Fowl Manor meant, these days, a lot of people moving in and out of whatever room Grandpa Artemis was in. The dayroom was quietly full. Fay spotted her favourite Aunt Liz coming in with her girlfriend Harper – Aunt Harper? – drying her hands on a tea towel. Aunt Liz was usually good for a game of cards, but Kit put his hand on Fay’s elbow and shook his head.

“Looks like they’re having A Conversation,” he said.

They grabbed the last plate of meringues that hadn’t been savaged by Great-Uncle Myles’s dog, and bore them over to Sir’s chair by the window.

“We brought you meringues, Sir,” piped Fay, offering them.

“Very thoughtful,” said Artemis, accepting one gravely. “Did I ever tell you kids about the time that my friend Mulch ate so many meringues that he physically glued himself to his seat …”

*

No. 1 wandered over to Artemis’s armchair to listen to the story – he hadn’t heard this one, and it was always good to have something to mock Mulch with. Not that the dwarf ever felt any shame. He fiddled with the tassles on his silver magician’s cloak, whistling softly. He loved Christmas at the Fowls’ house. The LEP and Section 8 loved it less than he did, but having their rules bent and stretched and quite frequently broken into tiny pieces kept them on their toes. He was performing a public service, really.

Artemis caught his sleeve. “When you have a moment,” he murmured, “I think Liz needs The Talk. Go for a nice magic trick, this time? Not something traumatizing?”

“On it, _amigo_.” No. 1 leant on Artemis’s chair and looked over at Harper and Liz, who had settled their Conversation into a couple of armchairs by the fire. “I’ll just reveal my true form to her and she’ll believe in magic _tout suite_.”

“Gently,” said Artemis, poking No.1 in the side.

“What are you talking about?” demanded Fay.

“Magic,” said No. 1 promptly. With a wave of his hands he produced a wreath of spring flowers, ostensibly from his sleeves, a dropped them around Artemis’s head. “ _Voila_!”

Everyone clapped, and Artemis smiled.

“Very impressive!” said Alice, who had come to sit on the couch. “Where did you get those from, No. 1?”

“Magic,” said No. 1 again. He bowed and handed her a bouquet. Alice laughed.

Artemis watched No. 1 plonk himself between Liz and Harper and hand each of them a small potted plant that had come out of nowhere. _That’ll take care of that, then. So much family to manage …_ but it was pleasant work.

He turned back to his little audience. “Where was I?”

Kit stuck up his hand and quoted verbatim, “ ‘And that’s when – ’ ”

“Oh yes. And that, of course, was when we discovered that Mulch had actually been _sitting_ on the shuttle keys and that we were stuck at the top of the Eiffel Tower with no way out of Paris – ”

“Good Lord, it’s a garden in here!” exclaimed Myles, who had wandered back into the room to find the fireplace surrounded by no fewer than three potted ferns and several orchids. Something that looked suspiciously like moss faded from the carpet around No. 1’s feet. Liz and Harper were holding hands, ivy joining their wrists.

Beckett, not far behind his twin, tucked his hands in his pockets and winked at Kit and Fay. “Must be fairies,” he said.

“ _If_ I might continue with my story,” said Artemis, with a mock reproving glare around them all. He smiled as they laughed, enjoying the feeling of petals falling about his face, and the golden light of the candles and the pure light of the calm snow outside.

_Merry Christmas._


End file.
